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Topic: The Shattered Sky (Read 1200 times) |
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Stravinsky
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Mando drops one into Morgan's hands, wishes him luck, and vanishes into the darkness.
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neph
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NEVER SAY DAT AGAIN!!!! *lifting axe into a swinging position and advancing on Mtor stomping his feet into the ground with each step cracking the boards of the Samuri's entrance*
Orc blood not MY MOMMIES *pauses tiltes head* uh CHOICE! You no say dat AGAIN!
*Eyes on the verge of popping out of skull*
YOU HAVE NO WIGHT TO KNOW!!!!
*walks right into Mtor throwing his chest out to bump into Mtor*
GRRRRRR!
*breathing heavy, growling under his breath looking down at Mtor with a look of utter hatred*
*tilts head and making his neck pop very loudly*
Gimme won weason to no kill you.
* you swear that you could almost see the veins
in his neck ready to pop out of his skin on the part of his neck not covered by his helmet*
*he swings his axe and buries into the wall just over Mtors head.*
Just won!
*he pulls his axe out as splinters from the wall fall onto Mtor*
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| « Last Edit: on: Jan 13, 2005, 1:13AM » |
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anoikis
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*Glares at the halfthing thief cowering away
Looks to the concerned face of Morgan*
"You know my story, Morg!"
*Looks to Naracku*
"look at MY skin" *Exposes arms*
"Do most elves look THIS dark?
You saw the hatred I had for that Drow- the dark elf- the one I spat on after I saved the skulking thief's life by killing it.
Don't you see? I hate the Drow for the same reason you hate the orc!
That blood - one quarter of me- was not my grandmother's choice, either!
and THEN- years later- another group of the dark ones destroyed my village and killed my kin.
Here's your reason Naracku-
I am like you and I understand your hatred.
Let's take it out on the minions of the demons, eh?
enough said"
*walks away, ignoring possible consequences*
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neph
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*Raises axe up and holds it in place, hand shaking, obviosly not from fear,.*
*buries his axe into the floor just behind Mtor*
RAAARGH!
*pulls axe from floor*
Den why you ask stupid question?
*stands there breathing heavily starring at Mtor*
*stands there looking confused*
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anoikis
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Because I DID NOT realize the situation of your background
You think i wanted to insult you?
You think nobody's ever called me a drow before?
we ALL have our difficulties from our past- we ALL must deal with them
you like killing orcs
i like killing drow and undead
Morgan here won't as so much as look at a woman because of his past
And this damnned hairy-foot cutpurse ain't even from this age- and now he's stuck with us!
We have ONE chance to get the hells out of here alive- that is to stick together and use each of our skills wisely to the benefit of us all...
*looks at Naracku*
*looks to morgan*
will you translate please!
*storms off*
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neph
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*now looking totally confused*
*looks at Morgan*
You no look at women? dat silly.
*then looks at Mando*
what he mean? where you from?
*looks at Mtor*
Me not forget this.
*tilts his head forward and grins*
We WILL get outta hell.
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Erik_the_Celt
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Morgan shakes his head and mutters, “We may get out of hell, but we won’t beat any flying elves with this going on.”
Looking up at Naracku, he takes a deep breath and says, “We start with Mtor”.
His mommy’s mommy is like Nar’s mommy.
She be hurt by dark elves, she have Mtor’s mommy as her baby.
Then Mtor’s mommy have dark elf blood.
Then Mtor have dark blood too.
Then dark elves come again, hurt Mtor’s mommy so bad she dead.
So Mtor be like Nar, Mtor hate dark elves like Nar hate orcs.
Morgan looks into Naracku’s eyes looking for a glimmer of understanding.
Ok? Morgan waits patiently for Naracku to respond.
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Stravinsky
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Mando whispers to himself, knowing only Mtor's acute hearing will pick it up, "Oh that's just wonderful Mtor, now I have to explain time travel to him!"
Mando walks over to Naracku, "I'll do my best to keep this simple...These demons have been helping an enemy of mine, a group of elves with wings called the Bain Sidhe." Mando notices Naracku struggling with the name. "The name isn't important. The point is, these elves, with the help of the demons, found a way to send themselves forward in time, thousands of years into the future. Now I know that's hard to believe, but Naracku, you've fought this demons, you know them. You know they have many surprising powers. Anyway, these elves were traveling forward in time, to my time, and leading a war on everyone who wasn't an elf. So I went through their gate and ended up here with you guys. So now you know why I want to get these demons as much as you do. They are helping to destroy my world."
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anoikis
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*pats morgan on the back*
Always pullin' me out of the tough situations *smiles*
OK- now that we are all PROPERLY acquainted...
we can get on with it.
I think our battle strategy is clear..
any questions?
Mando will take the lead as the scout- signal to me or the whole group as needed.
Naracku- with that voice of yours- who would have known that you would be learned in the lore of the land?! Can you examine some of these treasures we find- like weapons and arcane magic- to help get us outta here and find your king?
We will all look in on these chests and such- we must review any clues about getting out of here together and we need everyone's input.
I have confidence that we can and will leave this plane and return to the dalelands...
Ahh- Dale- if we could only help his soul reach somewhere better- where he would be treated as the hero he was- with whiskey, women, and sparring partners at his disposal....*voice trails off*
*looks serious*
Thiefling- your arrows are as puny as your forearms- those are not going to work against these fiends.
I have spoken of my uncle, anoikis jak, and what he has taught me.
He is a great wizard- and taught the elven warband archers the ways of arrow crafting and enchantment using old elven incantations with the proper craft of the arrow from fine hickory and the fletching from the right feather.
*pulls out scroll, hickory shafts, arrowheads, and worked feathers from his pack*
Mando, I will TRY to make some of these arrows for you- only know that my newly discovered art is not only the crafting of the arrow itself- it is the knowledge and acumen required to USE them. I learned to craft arrows when i was a boy- these arrows AND the archer who wields them are now different.
*begins fletching shanks and attaching arrowheads, while mumbling in elvish*
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Stravinsky
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Mando looks surprised at Anoikis's offer. "Yes, I have noticed that certain of these demons seem resistant to my arrows. I would be honored to try some of those famous Anoikis arrows you have been going on about."
Later, muttering to himself out of Anoikis's earshot, "I just hope I can figure out how to use the damn things. Would be a bit embarrassing to shoot myself in the foot."
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| « Last Edit: on: Jan 13, 2005, 10:43PM » |
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neph
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*Naraku looks down at Morgan*
Humph!Me no like Mtor. Him dark elf then? Not like me.
*turns away from Morgan, and looks menacingly at Mtor*
grrrrrr
*then looks down at Mando*
*tilts his head trying to understand what he is saying*
Bane Siddy? from future? What that mean? Hmmmm, bad elves? ALL elves bad? *looks at Mtor*
Me might enjoy killin elves.
*turns his back on Mtor when he starts talking again*
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| « Last Edit: on: Jan 13, 2005, 11:47PM » |
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Erik_the_Celt
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Morgan examined Mtor carefully across the evening campfire. It wasn’t easy these days guessing what his Captain was thinking, ever since their return from hell he had been moody and distracted. Even kicking the lich’s butt had not cheered him up and there was very little that made Mtor happier then wiping the floor with undead. Well, thought Morgan there’s no time like the present.
“Captain”, he said, “I’ve been thinking about something for a while, I guess it’s time to tell you now.” Mtor turned to Morgan and grunted, “What now Morgan, do you want me to join your prayer meeting?” Mando chuckled.
“No Captain, it’s about Dale, I need to do something for his soul. It’ll be months before Daebean is ready and I have Dale’s axe and some of the gold left. I’m going to leave for Hillsfar tomorrow and go the temple of Tempus. I’ll donate half of my share of the gold in exchange for prayers of intercession to Tempus. A warrior like Dale belongs in the Halls of the Heroes. “
“Tempus like heroes, I be hero.” Said Naracku. “But not dead yet.” Mtor quipped, “although you should be after that last battle.” Mando slid back from the fire, eyeing the giant bard carefully. “I make mouthy elf dead, pretty quick,” growled Naracku reaching for his battle axe. Mtor began a muttering a spell in a low voice.
“Please control yourselves,” pleaded Morgan. “We have more enemies to fight yet.”
Pausing for a moment, Morgan waited for things to settle down. “There’s more I have to say yet. There is a Watcher of Helm in Hillsfar, a senior member of my order. I am going to turn myself in for punishment for my desertion.”
Naracku turned to Morgan, with a confused look? “What Morgan do to be punished? Morgan puny but Morgan still fight.” “I know Nar, but long time ago, I ran away from watch to go kill Zhents,” Morgan replied. “It a good thing to do but it wrong for priest to not obey leader. Naracku always do what king says, right? Morgan should always do what leader say but Morgan to angry to listen. Now Morgan is bad priest. I have to go back and take my punishment”.
“What makes you think they’ll let you come back Morgan?” asked Mando from the shadows of the trees. Morgan turned to the sound of Mando’s voice. “I don’t know if they will, but I have to do this anyway,” he replied. “It’s Helm’s will that I go and I believe I will return with new wisdom and strength. I’ll just have to see what happens. At least I can warn them about Mammon and the Bain Shidhe. Perhaps they can help.”
Morgan walked over to the trees where Mando was standing, he whispered softly so even Mtor would not be able to hear. “Try and keep these two away from each other while I’m gone. We don’t need to lose any more companions.”
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neph
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Me no understand, why he no ask his god to forgive an be done wit it?
*look around, then gives Mtor the evil eye*
*starts to reach for axe*
*then picks up paper and quill instead*
Me gernel intree me no like elf him call me orc make me mad me mommy said me spesheel why evrywun hate me even dragon say i mell bad wat he no anewa den haflig say he uh uh had no choce in me beng der me no lik him anemor den Morgan leave say he bad prest can me trus anywon me wat to cee wat KING say mabeee he tel me kil dem me start wit elf hmmm dey say KING help dem if KING lik dem den i hav to to me alwas do what KING say me glad to her KING aliv me drik to much but me glad KING aliv me cee him sooon maybe me cee momy and dady sooon to
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anoikis
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Walks over and clasps his forearm in a shake.
"You must do what you must, Morgan Vant." *smiles* "I am certain that Helm will guide us to you again. Your wisdom is growing, cleric and I hope you return soon.
You know that I have invoked Correllon Larethion like any good elf- but you also know that i am not religious. I do not fully understand the ways of your kind. My aunt was a nature priestess, following Mielikki- but we were not a religious family. Perhaps that is why the gods allowed the Drow and their undead minions to ravage out village. Now that I can understand my Uncle's cipher, I am able to read all these personal messages he wrote for me in this tome of his. He knew that I would need them when the time came. He speaks of the elven god Shevarash- one I had ignored but remember hearing about as a youngster- This Shevarash was a mortal who had his family brutally destroyed by the dark elves. His battle against them was so noble that he was made a god by the elven divine ones. Shevarash- he will guide me now. Retribution will be mine in his name!
Before you leave- I ask that you take something with you.
*scribbles note*
Morgan Vant, Priest of Helm, has been my companion and shipmate for several years now. I have heard of Helm's teachings, and -forgive the irreverance- believe that Defender Vant exemplifies these ideals. I have witnessed Helm work through him in amazing ways of healing and to defeat those that bring disorder to the Dalelands. He does not allow anything to compromise his duties, he places his life in front of others as a guardian, and he takes good care of his weapons and armor. Moreover, he is a wise ambassador of Helm's ways. He has taught me much. His strength as a defender is growing considerably. I believe you will find great wisdom and strength in him.
Sincerely,
Mtor Anoikis (*writes his last name first so it is in the standard human way*)
Captain, The Daebean
*hands the note to Morgan*
*turns to Naracku and frowns*
Let us go see this King of yours.
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| « Last Edit: on: Jan 18, 2005, 1:18PM » |
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neph
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*Naraku jumps up and cheers*
WELL ALL RIGHT!
bout time!
*hurriedly starts to pack up his stuff while humming a tune*
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Erik_the_Celt
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A blue eye focused on the mace that hovered over the altar. Candles flickered as Morgan knelt, deep in prayer to Helm. It was almost twelve hours of the fourth night since the beginning of his vigil and his knees and back where feeling the strain of holding his position on the cold stone floor. His thoughts drifted through the events of the past few weeks. He remembered the Daebean and the attack of the Suhaunguin, the meeting with Mae and Mando, the horror of the breeding pits and the elven school.
Morgan remembered his recent entry into temple of Helm in Hillsfar. Watcher Armorg had greeted Morgan warmly when he had arrived at the temple of Helm in Hillsfar. Waiving off Mtor’s note he said, “yes, yes, your good Captain is quite right, you are indeed blessed by Helm and will do him a great service.” He explained to a startled Morgan that Armorg had been granted a vision of Morgan by Helm several days earlier. He had seen Morgan in the front ranks of the guard of Faerun. “Such a place is reserved for only the most blessed of guardians. News of the your companions and the Suhaunguin have reached the powerful of Hillsfar through the agents of the Claw.” Much news was passing through the Dales about recent activity of Zhentarim and demons. There was great concern in the councils of the mighty. Armorg was especially interested to hear news of the Bain Sidhe. Morgan had spent several days recounting to Armorg and others the journey through Hell and the information that had been gathered by his companions.
As a penance for his desertion, Armorg had assigned to Morgan the five nights of vigil in the priests chapel. “This is not so much punishment as proof for all to see that you are indeed chosen of Helm. He often grants visions of importance to those who hold vigil faithfully. Perhaps he will grant you knowledge that will free your friend Dale,” explained Watcher Armorg. Now, here he was kneeling in the chapel before a spartan altar.
Morgan’s thoughts drifted back to the breeding pits of Myth Drannor. He saw the chambers of the female elves and dryads. The naked bodies sprawled in the final grip of agony. He saw Dale hacking his way through the demon spawn. He saw Mtor’s arrows fly and the minotaurs ranging homs. He saw Mando slip through the shadows to stab at the backs of the demons and Warren swinging a flaming sword. Naracku was there and so was Mae as she called on the wild creatures of the forest to do her bidding. They blazed through the chambers, beating back the demons until at last the immortal soul of the prisoner was released. The mountain shuddered and the floor swayed. Dale falls, then Warren and Mae. You all tumble as the ground ruptures in a horrible crescendo of screeching rock. You hear voices from the pit, “All hail Mammon, the Alpha and Omega.” A huge monstrous head rises from the gaping hole in the floor. Your companions hide their faces. You shudder and retch at the loathsome smell boiling out of the pit. Mammon slithers across the floor towards Mae, she screeches then passes out. You call out to Helm, grateful that Mae will not see or feel anything more. The voices cry out again, “All hail Mammon, the Alpha and Omega. The seed of the destroyer has been planted! Witness the conception of man’s doom!” Mammon slithers back into the fading hole. A cry of “Vengance” echoes in the chamber as the vision fades.
A new scene comes swiftly to replace the horror of Mammon. A vision of Gwennet and the towers of Helm’s keep. A feeling of peace and hope sweeps over Morgan as the sun’s light begins glow in the window. Armorg enters the chapel and reverently takes hold of the mace. “Rest now Morgan, you will begin again at sundown.” Armorg raises the mace up to the great eye above the altar then rests the mace in the center.
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Erik_the_Celt
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In the days that followed, Morgan wandered the streets of Hillsfar pondering his vision. Had they somehow thwarted the plans of a demon god. It was not a vision of what had happened. Mae and the others had not there. Somehow, they were all tied together in the threads of this quest, but what could it mean? Why would Mammon cry out for vengenance? Perhaps Mando could find some meaning in the vision when he returned to the Crossroads Inn. Meanwhile, Morgan passed his time, visiting the widows and orphans of the town, bringing the blessing of Helm to each home and distributing the gold he had brought from the ruins of Myth Drannor. He returned to temple one day after a visit to a spirited child of 10. A child that Dale might have loved, maybe even fathered.
At the entrance to the temple, Morgan was met by a very thoughtful looking Armorg. “Morgan, I have news for you. Helm has granted your prayers. For two days I have prayed and fasted, now Helm has granted me an unbelievable blessing. We have found a way to free Dale’s soul from the depths of Hell. You will guard his spirit until such a time as he can be sent to his rightful place in the halls of Tempus.” Quickly Armorg explained that Dale’s weapons will be melted and reforged into a suit of plate armour. “You are to wear the armour and guard Dale’s soul. In turn, Dale’s soul will guard your life. That is the vision granted to me by our great guardian Helm. I can see by your face that this frightens you. Do not be afraid Morgan, Helm has a great blessing in store for you. This is not the end of Dale’s story but only another step on the path the gods would have us tread. When the time is right, you will know what to do. Have faith in Helm and he will preserve you. You must destroy the armour at a suitable time and release Dale to his just reward. Be careful with the armour though, it must be kept clean and polished for any rust will stain the soul of the one you guard.”
Morgan began each day going to the forge to watch the holy priests work on the new armour. Each piece was carefully shaped, hardened and polished. Each day, the priests prayed to Helm for strength and skill in forging the armour. Each evening, Morgan and Armorg carried the day’s work to the temple and laid it on the alter. Each night, a priest of Helm held vigil and prayed for the soul of Dale.
During the weeks of the foging, Morgan spoke often with Armorg and learned much about Helm and the work of the Watchers in Cormyr and the Dales. He practiced with the guards daily and learned how to handle swords and hammers in battle. He was glad that he keep the hammer from the elven school. It’s magical fire made it a formidable weapon and worthy of one who would be Helm’s champion.
Finally the forging was complete and the day of assembly arrived. The priests gathered in the chapel. Armorg lead many prayers to Helm. Morgan, aided by the master armourer, attached a new piece of plate to the growing suit of armour at the end of each prayer. Slowly, as the day passed the armour took shape. Reverently, Morgan attached each piece of plate until by evening, the work was done. “Now Morgan, you must hold vigil again,” says Armorg. “Sometime during your vigil, Helm will make known to you how to draw Dale’s spirit forth from Hell and into the armour.”
The night passes quickly for Morgan, he remembers nights on the Deabean watching the stars with Dale and Mtor. He remembers the journey to Myth Drannor and the agonizing fall of Dale. He remembers the awful return from Hell into the Dalelands and he begins to soar up over the forest. Below him, in the distance are great and terrible cities. The Dales and seemingly all of Cormyr are scarred with monsterous black gashes linking the cities likes threads in a giant spiders web. Morgan soars nearer to the cities. The towers are strange and twisted, nothing like anything that Morgan has ever known. Elves fly through the doors that go up and down the sides of building like windows in a keep. On the streets, humans and orcs jostle along, ragged and unkempt. Dwarves and halflings mix with goblins in the throng, being watched over by flying elves with wips in their hands.
In the center of the city stands a tall tower, it’s many turrets are sharp and look in the distance like flames from a fire. Suddenly, from the tallest spire a beam of light shoots from the window. It rises high up above the city, piercing the clouds. It looks as though it would challenge the sun itself. A strange and powerful glow fills the sky, below Morgan, the people of the street cower in fright. Breathless, Morgan watches as the sky begins to shatter and thousands of fireballs begin to fall like rain across the city and the whole landscape erupts in the screams of thousands of souls thrown into a furnace at once. He sees a fireball land on a flying elf madly trying to seek shelter in one of the towers. He sees a human and goblin incinerated in the same splash of fire that hits the street. Flames wash through the streets and over the towers, soon it is a vision of Hell like he had lived through before.
In the countryside, large craters begin to form. Morgan is drawn to one of the largest. He swings high overhead through the rain of fire until he could see into bottom of the crater. There in the pool of hot magma boiling through the pit, he could see an armoured figure with a bastard sword. It could not be, he did not want to believe, but it was Helm and he is dead. Helm’s body burns in the boiling earth beneath him. Being consumed by the lava. Morgan flies to another crater, inside this he sees Ilmater, in the next Selune, in the next a human in the regalia of the elves with a golden bow at his side. It must be Shevarash. He soars over the craters, in each a god, dead and burning in the fire. Throughout the land there is only fire and death.
In the distance, he sees a lone fighter swinging an axe at the demons surrounding him. In the whole landscape, only one man stands and fights. Morgan soars closer to the fight. It’s Dale, Dale Ironfist standing against all of the demons in Hell. Morgan soars to fight, he grabs Dale’s arm as it swings the axe, he lifts him high above the landscape. They soar over the hills of Cormyr, making for the Dragon sea. The demons take to the air in pursuit. As they reach the area where Hillsfar had been, Morgan begins to tire. Demons shoot arrows of flames at them. Morgan is hit and begins to fall, faster and faster the ground approaches.
Morgan came too, sprawled on the chapel floor. Before him on the altar, the armour glows with a clean and holy light. The sun shines brightly through the window and Morgan can hear the sound of Hillsfar beginning another day. Morgan lay for awhile confused. Surely this was more than just a rescue of Dale from Hell. The Bain Sidhe had not been there. Had he seen the end of the gods and the races of the material plane. Was this what Mammon was planning? Was this what he had to prevent?
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neph
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*looks down at Mtor*
*then looks around*
*stops, turns around takes two steps, then turns back around and starts walking in the original direction*
Ha ha!
We almost there.
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Stravinsky
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...."Now thrust...yes, like that", Abaddon directed. "You cannot treat the sword as a weapon, something you use, a tool that you pick up and put down as needed. Your sword is an extension of yourself. Your arm doesn't end at your fingertips...it extends from your shoulder to the very point of your blade." With two flicks of his wrist, Abaddon slashes a falling leaf into four neat pieces before it hits the ground. "You are small, and lack the strength behind your blows to cleave your enemy in twain." Abaddon leans down and looks Mando straight in the eye. "You must realize that is no weakness...a quick slash to the neck requires little force, and is no less deadly. You are nimble, quick fingered...you must learn to strike accurately rather than powerfully, to find your opportunity and take it." Abaddon sheaths his sword and strolls back toward the Crossroads Inn. "You have learned much in a short time. Keep practicing, halfling, and you will be quite the swordsman."
Mando watches as Abaddon enters the building, and then his hand flashes out to his right with barely a thought. Mando smiles briefly as he watches the leaf's two halves flutter gently in the breeze...
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